Unrestricted

by K. A. Berg

  “Your ass hasn’t gotten that big, and you haven’t been sick in weeks. You even get to sleep in the middle of the day, and no one questions it. What’s wrong now?” Quinn asks, pausing whatever dumb reality show she’s watching from her DVR stash.

  “Well, first, my boobs are killing me. I’ve gone up a whole cup size. Normally, I’d be grateful for the free boob job, but these babies hurt,” I tell her, my hands unconsciously rising to rub my sore breasts. “Second, my nipples are super sensitive, which is sensory overload when you add in the fact I’m hornier than a frat boy in a whorehouse. I had to replace the batteries in my vibrator last week, and they were still practically brand new. I’m seriously considering going back to the sex shop and buying one of those purple vagina killers.”

  She laughs as though I’m kidding, but I’m completely serious. My vagina has been one greedy bitch lately. Nothing seems to satisfy her.

  Quinn grins and says, “You burnt through those batteries already? Damn.”

  I don’t know why, but the comment really pisses me off. “Don’t laugh at me, bitch,” I snap. “Just because you’ve got Alex fucking you into next week doesn’t mean you get to make fun of my lack of sex like you’re the Queen of Cocks.” I feel tears welling behind my eyes.

  “Queen of Cocks?” she asks, laughing even harder.

  The tears have risen up, brimming on my lower lids. One blink will surely cause a tidal wave.

  “Yes, Queen of Cocks, you know—the gatekeeper of all the cocks. She’s the bitch who decides who gets some and who doesn’t and then gets her rocks off mocking the poor pathetic fools like me who don’t get to enjoy any of it,” I explain, tears now streaming down my face.

  “Hold up. You’re crying because, in your delusional mind, you’ve made me Queen of Cocks and I’m supposedly the one denying you a good fuck?” she asks in a confused tone.

  “No. I’m crying because I’m a hormonal wreck and I’m sex deprived. I was getting superb sex on a regular basis, and then I was cut off cold-turkey. On top of that, my sex dreams are always with him, are way better than the reality ever was, and I always wake up before I come. EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. Then I wind up needing to finish what my dream started, requiring me to use said dream to finish the job, and then I’m angry at myself for thinking about Tanner while making myself come. Or I have to take a cold shower. Who the hell enjoys cold showers?”

  Quinn stares at me, speechless, as I continue my tirade. I’m having a full-blown meltdown at this point, I might as well let it all out.

  “Then there are the cravings! I want Cherry Garcia Ben and Jerry’s like all the time. Plus, I saw at least ten very pregnant women this week, and they all—each and every one of them—had their significant others by their sides, fawning all over them. I’m never going to have that, and it makes me really, really sad.” I drop my head into my hands and let the sobs out.

  “Aww, Sweets, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you more upset, but come on, Queen of the Cocks? It’s funny, and you know it.” She pulls my feet together in her lap and massages them. “How long have you been having these dreams and when did they start?” she asks, focusing on rubbing my left foot.

  I sigh in pleasure as she hits a sweet spot in the middle of my foot. “They started after his impromptu apology visit.”

  “You’ve been this horny for two weeks?” She gives me a look filled with sympathy as she moves on to the right foot.

  “Don’t look at me like that, and yes, I have. It wasn’t nearly as bad until I saw him in person. In my mind, I’d convinced myself he’d morphed into Quasimodo after we broke up.” I laugh. “All that work down the drain with one stupid visit. I could smell his cologne for two days after. Why does he have to be such a good-looking, good-smelling prick?”

  “You know what you need?” she asks, moving her still-massaging hands from my feet up to my calves.

  “Whaaat?” I moan out, enjoying the calf massage.

  “Are you seriously going to orgasm just from me rubbing your calves?” she asks in disbelief.

  I chuckle. “Hopefully, because that would be really nice. You’d be a better lover than almost all of my past boyfriends.” All but one. Of course, he would be the only one who knew how to play my body like a fiddle and could fuck me six ways to Sunday.

  “I know I promised to be here for you throughout this entire thing, but I draw the line at making you come. That’s weird even for me.” She pushes my legs off her lap and onto the floor with a laugh.

  “Ha, ha, ha… You were saying?” I give her a glare for disrupting my comfort.

  “You need a night out. You know, Alex asked me to go to an upcoming fundraiser with him. Why don’t you come with us?” she suggests excitedly. “We have an extra ticket. You need to get all dolled up and feel good about yourself. It’ll make you feel like a million bucks.” She does make a good point. Nothing makes a girl feel better than getting all dressed up for a big party.

  “Why the hell not?” I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.

  “You need a new dress,” she says enthusiastically.

  “No. I’m not buying a dress I’m literally only going to be able to wear once,” I tell her as my hand roams over my slowly growing bump. She opens her mouth to say something, but I stop her before she has the chance because I know exactly what she’s thinking. “And neither are you.”

  “You’re right. We’ll go consignment. There’s a place down in Hudson Square,” she says before going off on a tangent about colors and accessories.

  Lord help me.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” Quinn says when I open my bedroom door.

  “Gorgeous,” Alex agrees with a wide smile. Over the last month, he’s become a very good friend, even if his taste in other friends is completely questionable.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling genuinely. I think I look great as well. The dress Quinn and I found is fabulous—metallic silver and covered in beading. With its flowy style, it’s great for my expanding midsection, and it’s impossible to tell I’m pregnant. I can’t remember what Quinn called it—empire something or other. With a slit on the left side that goes to mid-thigh, it’s still quite sexy. Quinn had me pair it with simple black Jimmy Choo heels, but she’d insisted I need party makeup, so I’m a bit more done-up than usual. My hair is swept over to one side and hangs down over my shoulder in a bevy of curls. Quinn had been right. Getting dressed up was just the pick me up I needed.

  “Are you beautiful ladies ready?” Alex asks, flashing his most charming smile at Quinn and I.

  “I just need to change out my purse really quick,” I say, heading to my closet to grab my black clutch. I move everything I might need from my everyday purse and then make my way down the hall toward the coat closet for my dress coat.

  As I reach the end of the hallway, I hear hushed murmuring from the entryway.

  “Did you tell her?” Alex asks in muted tones.

  “No,” Quinn answers.

  “You know she’s going to be pissed, right?”

  “I don’t care anymore. She needs this. They need this push.”

  I have a feeling I’m not going to like whatever it is they’re talking about, but I choose to ignore it as I make my way toward the front door, resolving to find out tomorrow. I’m all dressed up and ready to go, and I don’t want anything to ruin my night out.

  As we pull up to the Waldorf Astoria, I’m starting to wish I’d asked more questions regarding this event before agreeing to go. They don’t let just anyone host an event at the Waldorf on New Year’s Eve. Whatever charity is hosting this, they’ve certainly gone all out.

  Quinn and Alex get stopped near the entrance by an acquaintance of Alex’s, but I keep walking, taking everything in. I wish I would’ve known the event had a gold theme. I feel as though my dress clashes with everything… Oh well! I look damn good.

  The table linens are white and covered with sparkly gold tulle. The square centerpieces are bowls with floating candles
and glittering ornament-like balls in them. A huge sign over the stage area reads, “A New Year, A New Face.” Underneath, smaller gold letters spell out “The Tony Mathis Foundation.”

  Now I know what the whispering must have been about. I’m going to kill those two—just as soon as I find them. How could they do this to me? Scanning the crowd, I try to find them, but I end up finding him instead. Of course, he’s in a fucking tux… and he’s laughing it up as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Fucking asshole. As much as I hate him—and I really fucking hate him—I can’t tear my eyes away from him. That is until I catch a flash of teal in my peripheral vision and beeline it toward my traitorous best friend and her date.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl out between my gritted teeth.

  “I’m guessing you figured out where we are, huh?” She looks down at the floor to hide from my murderous glare. At least she has the decency to look remorseful.

  I’m seething. “After everything I told you the other day while crying my eyes out, you decided this is exactly what I need?” On what planet did she think this was a good idea?

  “Yes, I did. You need a night out while looking absolutely fabulous, and he needs to see it. And you need to see him too. I think you should hear him out, Ash,” she says, a slight wariness in her voice. Quinn is never timid or wary, she’s really worried about my reaction.

  “This is the last thing I need. I’m horny twenty-four seven and getting off to my dreams of him fucking me, and you think I need to see him in a tux? He’s wearing a fucking tux, Quinn. My vagina doesn’t give a shit how much I hate him right now,” I spit at her, not caring Alex can hear every word. Thankfully, he’s smart enough to keep any smart-ass comments to himself.

  “Why don’t you just try to have a good time, Ashley? Hang out with us, and if Tanner tries to talk to you tonight, hear him out. What can it hurt?” she asks, shrugging.

  “Everything. It can hurt everything. Thanks a lot.” I turn to head to the bar before I remember I can’t even get drunk. Fucking great!

  Once he’s spotted me, it takes Tanner about twenty minutes to make his way over to me. I try very hard to move in opposition to him, but he must be more determined than I’ve given him credit for. As I feel him closing in on me, I make my way closer to the bar, where there’s a high concentration of people. Better to be near others than secluded with him.

  “This is much different than the last time we were at one of these functions,” he says, appearing at my side. “You couldn’t get close enough that night, but now you can’t seem to get far enough away from me,” he says with his panty melting smile and I know I need to get away from him now.

  “I don’t have anything nice to say to you, unlike last time, so it’s better we keep our distance. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, no?” I say before I walk away. He just had to bring up that night, didn’t he? I’ve been doing my best to ignore the fact the last time we were at one of these was when he made our relationship official and public. This is going to be a long night if this is how he plans on playing things. A trip down memory lane will do me absolutely no good. I know what we had then, and I know what we don’t have now. I don’t need him reminding me. He’s got a lot of nerve.

  I do my best to keep as far away from Tanner, but that means I have to keep an eye on him—watching him schmooze for hours, chatting everyone up to get donations for the kids. The irony isn’t lost on me. He’s raising money for other people’s kids when he can’t accept his own… He may claim he wants in now, but how can I believe that after the things he said?

  Tanner heads toward the stage for his speech, and that’s my cue to make sure I’m not around. I can’t bear to listen to him babble on about helping to save these strangers’ kids when he wanted me to get rid of his own. I don’t think I’d be able to keep down the chicken that was served for dinner.

  I head into the hallway behind the ballroom and stroll along it, admiring the artwork on the walls until the faint buzz of Tanner’s voice over the sound system turns into an applause and I’m sure he’s finished with his hypocritical speech. Making my way back into the party, I stand on the sidelines, watching everyone enjoy their evening. Quinn and Alex are having a great time out on the dance floor. They look as though they’ve never been happier. I’m jealous for a moment when the music slows down and Alex wraps his arms around her, drawing her close for the dance. I’m taken aback by the sadness of the song. It seems an odd choice for a New Year’s party, but whatever.

  Closing my eyes, I listen to the lyrics Christina Aguilera’s melodious voice is belting out. She’s sorry for hurting someone and wishing she had just one more chance. I guess I can see the correlation to the starting of a new year when I think about it—washing away the sadness and mistakes of the old year. If only it were that easy.

  “I asked the DJ to play this song,” a strong, familiar voice says from behind me.

  “Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. I’m not sure what someone says to something like that except to ask why, but I don’t want to engage him. I want him to go away, so there’s no way I’m asking why. His cologne invades my nose as he gets closer to me, and it does nothing to calm my libido.

  “Don’t you want to know why?” he says, standing close enough I can feel his breath on my neck. It makes me shiver. Fuck! The last thing I need is for him to think he still has an effect on me, which he doesn’t—just on my fucking uncontrollable hormones.

  “Not even a little bit,” I spit out as harshly as I can. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I don’t even get a step away before he wraps his fingers around my upper arm, stopping me. The moment his skin touches mine, the familiar and undeniable jolt of electricity buzzes through me. I hear his gasp, meaning he must feel it too… and know I’m still affected by him. Just what I need. Why the hell can’t I get my body on board with the hate in my heart?

  “Because almost every word of this song applies to me and you. Because I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m sorry for the things I said that definitely weren’t true. I’m sorry for blaming you,” he says.

  I sense him staring at me, but I’m not ready to look at him just yet. I take a deep breath, straighten my spine, and meet his gaze. “Good for you, Tanner.” I pull my arm away from him and head back toward the hallway I’d hidden in earlier. I remember seeing a restroom there, and I need somewhere to pull myself together. My pussy really needs to get the message that she shouldn’t get turned on by that asshole.

  As I reach the bathroom, I’m relieved to find it’s empty. Grabbing a paper towel, I run it under the cold water, and blot the back and sides of my neck with it, hoping to cool myself down. The door opens and closes behind me and then there’s a click of a lock sliding into place. I lean back to look around the partition separating the sitting area of the bathroom from the facilities only to find Tanner striding toward me as though he’s on a mission.

  “Don’t you understand?” he asks, shaking his head.

  “What? That you’re a grade-A asshole? Yes, I understand better than most,” I say, cocking my head and flashing him a snarky smile.

  “No, Ashley. I made a mistake. I’ve apologized for it. I’ll keep apologizing for it, because I’ll do anything to make things right between us. What’s it going to take for you to realize we belong together? Don’t think I didn’t notice how you reacted to me back there,” he says, invading my space again. He’s so close he’s shorting out all my mental circuits. The tux, the cologne, the apologetic rasp of his voice—I need to get away from him.

  “Nothing, because we don’t belong together. If we did, you would’ve never treated me the way you have,” I say, trying to sound strong as I ignore his comment about my reaction to his touch.

  He closes the last bit of space left between us. “I recall you liking all the ways I treated you, Ashley. I’ve felt your beautiful eyes following me all night, and I could practically hear all the dirty thoughts running through your mind,” he says
in the tone he always uses when he’s trying to convince me of something. He hasn’t lost using it yet. “You look absolutely beautiful tonight.” He runs his nose down the side of my neck, from my ear to my collarbone.

  I don’t have enough resolve to fight him off, but maybe if I can give in to this feeling on my own terms, I can make it out of here with my heart still intact. I hate him. But right now, I want to hate him while he’s buried inside me, making me forget everything including my name.

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been told. Repeatedly,” I say, baiting him. If I’m not leaving here unscathed, neither is he. Two can play at this game. The only difference between us is I don’t give two shits what he thinks of me after I get what I need.

  He grips my hip. “Who’s been telling you that?” he asks, his tone hard and jealous. Perfect, exactly what I want.

  “None of your concern.” I push his hand away but don’t quite let go of him. My eyes stay glued to our connected hands.

  Tanner must see whatever it is he’s looking for in my reaction because his expression becomes harder, more possessive. “Everything about you concerns me, Ashley,” he says, gripping both of my hips now.

  “Not anymore,” I say, sounding breathier than I’d wanted to. My traitorous body caves to his touch, and my lower half has molded itself to his.

  “I bet your body thinks otherwise, baby,” he says, sliding his hand from its spot on my hip to the slit of my dress. He drags his fingers up my exposed thigh to my panties, where they pause as if he’s expecting me to stop him, but I can’t formulate a coherent thought with the way he’s touching me. The way I’ve been dreaming of for weeks. The way my body has been begging for.

  He finally slides his hand up farther and his fingers find their prize. The small contact between his fingers and my clit, even over my thong, sends my overly needy body into a sensory tailspin. I know doing this with him is wrong, and I’m sure I’ll regret it tomorrow, but I want it so badly right now.